


Shyla

by gluedwithgold



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While searching through the storerooms, something is accidentally released into the Bunker and Sam and Dean have to figure out how to deal with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shyla

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful [Dancing_Adrift](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) and [non_tiembo_mala](http://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala) for beta-ing and being a constant source of inspiration. 
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome - kudos give me warm fuzzies! <3

“Hey Sammy, c’mere!” Dean bellowed from the doorway of the storeroom. He’d been searching through the stacks of boxes for hours, making mental notes of the contents of the last remaining unexplored room of the bunker. They’d been making slow progress over the past year going through everything in their inherited home, spending hours looking through dusty boxes whenever there was a lull in cases. It had been two weeks since anything had come up, and they were finally reaching the end of the expansive collection. “SAM! I need your help in here! Bring a crowbar!” 

Dean listened at the door for Sam’s footsteps approaching, but when he heard nothing he returned to the back corner of the dimly lit room where the ancient-looking stone box sat, newly uncovered by the removal of dozens of boxes of brittle, yellowed files, most of which appeared to be duplicates of files they’d already looked at, stored away for safekeeping in case the others were lost or damaged. 

He gripped the two-foot square, four-foot high, deceivingly heavy box with both arms, and bending his knees, put his full bodyweight into trying to move the thing. It shifted maybe a quarter of an inch, scraping the floor with an aggravating, high-pitched sound. He moved around to the side of the box, turning his back to it and again using his full bodyweight, tried to shift its position. This time he succeeded in lifting one edge about an inch off the floor, only to have it crash back down with a bang. 

“Son of a bitch, you’re moving one way or another,” Dean said in frustration, taking a step away from the monstrosity, inhaling deeply, then launching himself against it like a linebacker. This time he lifted the one edge a full foot off the floor, but the opposite edge still only served as a pivot instead of sliding, and the airborne edge came crashing down, Dean jumping out of the way barely in time to avoid having his toes crushed. 

The harder impact of the last blow sent a crack through the stone, spidering up the side of the thing, breaking off into veins until finally the entire box let loose and crumbled to the floor as Dean watched, slightly impressed with himself, sheepishly grinning at the damage he’d caused. He coughed and fanned away the dust that was rolling up around the pile of rubble. 

“Dude, what the hell did you do?” Sam had stopped short in front of the pile of crumbled stone, crowbar in hand, slightly out of breath after having run down the hallway when he heard the crash. He turned his gaze from the wreckage up to his brother, waiting for the answer. 

“I...I think I broke it…” Dean said, smirking at his brother.

“Well I can see that, Dean, what was it before you broke it?” 

“I don’t know, man, it was just a big stone box - no writing, no label on it. The lid was up against the wall so I was trying to move it to open it and, well...I broke it.” 

“Alright, well, let’s start digging and see if we can find whatever was inside,” Sam said as he knelt in front of the rubble and started tossing chunks of stone off to the side. Dean was soon on the floor next to him, tossing the jagged stones in the opposite direction. They worked in silence, slowly spreading out the pile, each keeping their eyes peeled for anything that looked different than the outer stone box. 

“Dean check it out…” Sam held up a palm-sized shard of stone that was dark grey in color, a severe contrast to the sand-colored pieces they’d been moving. “It’s got carving on it.”

“Ah crap, I was hoping I didn’t break what was in the box...shit.” Dean took the piece from Sam, turned it over in his hands, examining the deeply etched marks in it. “Dude are these letters?”

Sam took the piece back and turned it toward the dim overhead light in the center of the room. “I’m not sure, might be - let’s see if we can find some more and piece them together. Maybe we can figure out what it  _ was _ ,” Sam said, slightly snidely, glancing at his brother with that look that said he was going to give him shit about breaking a potentially important artifact for a long time to come. Dean sighed and went back to work looking for more puzzle pieces. 

***

An hour later, Dean set a bottle of beer next to the shards Sam was laying out side by side on the table. He sat down in the chair across from Sam, swinging his legs up on the table while taking a long swig from his own bottle. Sam set the last of the pieces out, tossed the cardboard box they’d been in aside and sat across from his brother, sipping his beer and looking over the oddly shaped stone shards in front of him. 

“These are definitely letters,” Sam said, picking up one of the larger pieces and holding it under the desk lamp to look at it closer. “And old...really old.”

“How old?” Dean looked over at Sam, bottle held halfway to his mouth, suspended while waiting for the answer.

“It’s Latin. Etruscan alphabet,” Sam looked at Dean, searching his brother’s face for a sign of comprehension. “Dude, ancient Rome.”

***

She slowly poked her head from around the stack of boxes, having waited what seemed like an hour after the two men had left the room to dare emerging from her hiding spot. Her surroundings were completely unfamiliar to her, and she had no idea how she’d just appeared in the room in front of the tall man with the short-cropped hair. He had been distracted by a cloud of dust at first, and she’d taken the opportunity to slip away and hide before he noticed her. Soon after, another, taller man came in and they started cleaning up the mess of rocks on the floor while bickering at each other. She sat there behind the boxes, trembling, trying to hold her breath to avoid detection. It was only after the men had left and she’d had a good long while to collect herself that she summoned the courage to venture out of hiding and try to figure out what was going on. 

She peeked around the door casing into the hallway, holding her breath, listening intently for any signs of the two men. After satisfying her nerves that the hallway was empty, she stepped out, keeping close to the wall, and followed the corridor with light, soundless steps. She finally emerged through a doorway that opened up into a large room full of tables and bookcases, tentatively looking around for signs of life. She took one step into the room then noticed the tall, long-haired man sitting in a chair in the corner, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. She ducked back behind the doorway and watched, her breath coming in short, quick bursts. 

“Hey, Sammy, come eat something ya geek.” Dean placed a plate of food down on the table then walked around to the other side with his own plate and sat down. Sam stood, eyes still on the book, and shuffled slowly toward the table. He set the book down next to his plate and sat, never looking up from the page. 

“So get this - so far I’ve translated the words “offering,” “protector,” and “ancestor” from the shards. I think what you broke was a statue of a Roman deity,” he said, picking up his fork and stabbing a piece of potato. 

“So, what? Just a statue? Like art?” Dean sawed at his steak with his knife, hacking off a less than dainty piece which he shoved in his mouth.

“I think so, I mean the Romans kept shrines with statues of deities in their houses - they believed if they made offerings and prayers to them they’d get protection, plentiful food, even advice. Some of them were earth spirits, some of them ancestors. This statue was probably a Parente or a Lare, since the word ancestor is on it.” 

“Dude, you’re such a nerd. So, if it’s an ancestor, that means what? A spirit? Do you think there’s actually a ghost attached to the thing?” 

“I don’t know, I haven’t read that far yet.” Sam said, glancing across the table at his brother long enough to catch the look of concern in his face. 

After listening to the men’s strange conversation, still tucked away behind the door casing, she stepped back into the hallway, sliding down the wall to a sitting position. Anxiety was starting to take over, her hands shaking uncontrollably and her mind racing.

_ “Okay, I’m in a weird building with lots of weird stuff and two weird men named Sam and Dean. And I have no idea how I got here,”  _ she thought to herself while trying to take a few deep breathes to calm herself down. _ “It could be worse. Wait, no it couldn’t. I have no idea how I got here, last thing I remember I was…” _ She suddenly realized she couldn’t remember the last thing she was doing because she couldn’t remember anything before appearing in front of Dean. She couldn’t even remember…

“What’s my name? Oh, god, I don’t remember my name…” she said aloud, forgetting for a moment that she was still hiding. Tears of panic had started streaming down her face. A moment later she heard footsteps and voices coming down the hall. 

“Dean, just help me find the rest of the pieces, alright? We need to figure out what that thing was to make sure we didn’t let something out!” Sam bitched at Dean, exasperated, as they walked quickly down the hallway. “It won’t take that long and then you can go watch your women’s midget wrestling or whatever.” 

She scrambled to her feet, her face still wet with tears, and braced herself for the coming confrontation. Her mind raced to find words that could possibly explain why she was in their hallway. She straightened up, looked them both squarely in the face and waited for them to see her. 

“Dude, it’s not women’s midget wrestling! It’s women’s mixed martial arts, and it’s awesome!” Dean sputtered defensively, his arm swinging out to lightly swat Sam in the chest as he talked. 

Her gaze followed them as they walked… right… past. She stopped dead, an icy chill swirling through her body as she watched the two men continue down the hallway having not seen her standing there. 

“What the hell? They can’t see me?” She looked down at herself, seeing the jeans, the white canvas tennis shoes, simple green sweater. She lifted her hand in front of her eyes, wiggling her fingers a little. Then she wondered… “Hello?!” 

The sound of her voice seemed to echo down the hallway. She waited, half expecting two men to come running back down the corridor toward her voice. But they didn’t come running. They couldn’t hear her either. 

“Well, that makes things a little...simpler?” she said to herself, shaking her head in a vain attempt at shedding her confusion. “I’m… invisible. And I don’t know how I got here. Or where I came from. Or what my name is.” 

***

“Oh, crap!” Sam said, dropping his pen on the table then combing his fingers through his hair and tucking it behind his ears. 

“What?” Dean said, looking up from the laptop. 

“Roman statue, deity, Lares - Cuthbert Sinclair.” Sam looked at his brother across the table with a sinking feeling rising in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh, crap,” Dean repeated, reaching up to close the laptop. “What now?” 

“Apparently he found the statue, then worked a spell.”

“What kind of spell?” 

“A spell to trap a spirit in the statue and turn it into a Lare.” 

“Aw, man, what the fuck?” Dean leaned backward hard in his chair. “You ever notice that guy made more messes in this place than he made protection spells?”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam said, turning his attention back to the Men of Letters file in front of him. “Although, this time he was actually trying to do something good.” 

“How so?” Dean leaned forward again, placing his elbows on the table.

“Well, the Lares were protective spirits. They’d watch over the home and keep the residents safe. They could be mischievous toward strangers sometimes, but they were there to protect the family.”

“Right, but then why did they put the thing in a giant stone box and hide it away?” 

“Yeah, I’m not sure...wait, here,” Sam pointed to the bottom of the page and read aloud. “Lares experiment rejected and terminated due to unforeseen and undesirable results; artifact shelved, room 22D, full case report pending interview with member Sinclair.” 

“Unforeseen and undesirable results - that doesn’t sound good,” Dean said with a sigh. 

“No, it doesn’t.” Sam pushed his chair back and stood up. “Well, I’ll go see if I can find the interview so we can find out what happened with the thing. Hopefully it’ll tell us if breaking the statue released the spirit and what happens to it if it did.”

“Right, I’m gonna go back to watching anime,” Dean said as he opened the laptop again. 

“Man, you’re sick, you know that? It’s a perversion!” Sam called as he walked out of the room. 

“Dude, it’s an art form!” Dean yelled after him. “Art, Sammy! You need a little culture in your life!”

***

She decided since they couldn’t see her, she’d watch and listen to see if they knew anything about what was going on. From what she’d heard so far, it seemed like her strange appearance here had something to do with the Roman statue they dug out of the pile of rubble, and it sounded like they were digging for more details, so she’d been lurking in the corner of the library where Sam was researching it. Dean was there too, but it seemed like he was just there for company, not to do any work. 

When Sam left to go down the hallway she followed, though not too closely. She still didn’t fully trust that she was really invisible to them. Better safe than sorry. 

He went into a different room this time, halfway down the hallway. After turning on the overhead light he started perusing the labels on the boxes lining the metal shelves. Two thirds of the way down the second shelf he uttered a quiet “a-ha” and pulled out a box. 

She ventured a little closer, curiosity egging her on. She stopped at the edge of the first shelf and leaned over, trying to see what was in the box Sam was rifling through on the floor. She reached out to grab onto the vertical rail of the shelf in order to steady herself and lean in further when she brushed her hand against a box and knocked it askew. The sound and movement caught Sam’s attention, his head snapping up in her direction. She froze, her breath stopping mid-exhale. 

“What the…?” Sam whispered as he stood up and side-stepped toward the shelf that held the now slightly angled box. He peered at the shelf and the box, standing directly in front of her. He was so close to her she could smell the musky scent of his deodorant. She bit down on her lip and closed her eyes, breath still motionless in her chest. He shrugged at the shelf, then bent down to retrieve the box and carried it to a desk that sat against the wall. 

She released her lip from her teeth’s grip and let out a long sigh, turning toward Sam who was pulling out the chair to sit at the desk. He whipped his head around to look directly at the spot where she was standing. Had he heard the sigh? How could he if he didn’t hear her yell down that echoey hallway earlier? He shook his head, dismissing what he thought he heard, and pulled an audio tape from the box. 

She relaxed a little then, and returned her attention to what Sam was doing. He loaded the tape onto the reel-to-reel player, feeding it across the machine to the receiving spool, then flipped the switch to start the audio playing. The crackly audio filled the room, and both she and Sam listened with rapt attention. 

***

“ _ Men of Letters interview with Cuthbert Sinclair, February 18, 1956. Regarding unforeseen and undesirable spellwork results on the Roman Lares statue. _ ” The voice on the tape introduced the subject, then there was a brief pause that included the sound of papers being shuffled. 

“ _ Mr. Sinclair, please describe the intended purpose of the Lares statue spellwork, _ ” the voice continued.

“ _ The statue was intended as a protective measure. The spirit guided into the statue would become a Lare, a spirit whose sole purpose is to protect and guide the inhabitants of the home it belongs to. The Lare was intended to protect the residents of the Men of Letters bunker. _ ” Cuthbert recited the words as if he’d said them multiple times, his tone rudely annoyed. 

“ _ And can you describe the process of guiding the spirit to the statue? _ ”

“ _ After planting the statue in the Lebanon Funeral Home, I attended the service of a Ms. Shyla Kimball, age 23. Once the body of Ms. Kimball was in the same room as the statue, I read the incantation which directed the spirit into the statue, binding it to the stone. I then returned the statue to the bunker and read the remaining incantation to transform the bound spirit into a Lare and link it to the bunker. _ ” 

“ _ Did you research the life or manner of death of Ms. Kimball before binding the spirit to the statue?” _

_ “No.” _

_ “When did you research the spirit?” _

_ “Two weeks after the binding ritual.”  _

_ “And what were the findings of the research?” _

_ “I found that Ms. Kimball had taken her own life after the untimely demise of her intended husband.”  _

She stared at the rotating tape reels, a shudder racing down her spine as her memory began flooding back to her. She raised her right hand and turned it over, palm facing upward, and gazed at the six inch vertical gash on her wrist that gaped, open, but bloodless. “I’m dead, that’s why…”

“ _ And Mr. Sinclair, _ ” the man on the tape continued,  _ “how did the manner of Ms. Kimball’s death affect the results of the binding?”  _

_ “Ms. Kimball’s spirit, because it would not have been at rest normally, did not fully transform into a Lare. I believe since she was riddled with loneliness in life, she was looking for companionship in death as well.”  _

She had heard enough, or rather, didn’t want to hear any more. The flooding memories of her own life and death filled her with a heavy sadness. She now remembered the happy evenings at the drive-in with Thomas, her job at the veterinarian’s office, Saturday afternoons spent at her mother’s kitchen table carefully planning the wedding. She remembered, too, the pain of sitting through Thomas’s funeral, getting the phone call from his father telling her how he’d been driving home from work when the tractor trailer’s brakes had failed and the ensuing crash had sent him to the hospital with a major head injury, spending days at his bedside while he languished, unconscious, before finally succumbing to his injuries in the wee hours of the morning on the fourth day. And more than anything, she remembered the hole left in her heart, the aching desire to see Thomas again, to hear his laugh, to feel the gentle press of his lips against hers. She left the room, slowly walking down the corridor to the room she first woke up in. She slipped behind the stack of boxes where she’d first hid herself, slumped down to the floor and sobbed.

***

“Dude, we have a problem,” Sam said as he burst back into the library where Dean sat with his feet propped up on the chair next to him, attention focused on the laptop. 

“What’d you find out?” he said as he closed the laptop, silencing the shrill noise of the anime video he was watching. 

“Apparently our buddy Magnus didn’t do his homework before trapping a spirit in that statue. It worked to bind the spirit to the bunker, but didn’t turn it fully into a Lare.” 

“Okay, so...bunker is haunted. Again. Great,” Dean sighed as he pulled his feet off the chair and sat up at the table. “So what are we dealing with?” 

“Shyla Kimball. 23 years old when she sliced her own wrists after her fiance died. According to the interview with Sinclair, after he pulled her spirit into the statue and brought it back here, no one was supposed to even know she was around unless something threatened the residents of the bunker. But a couple weeks after he brought her here, things started getting a little...haunty,” Sam smirked, then waited for his brother’s reaction.

“Haunty?? Haunty how?” Dean demanded impatiently, not really interested in Sam’s baiting.

“Well, nothing malevolent. She’s not angry,” Sam smirked at his brother again. 

“Then what?” 

“Apparently Shyla is lonely.”

“What, you mean  _ lonely  _ lonely? Is she hot?” Dean said as he straightened up in his chair, his interest piqued. “Sam, this might not be a bad thing…” 

“Dude, no,” Sam laughed at his brother’s predictable response. “She’d latch onto one of the Men of Letters and follow them around, umm…’helping’ them.”

“Oh, great…”

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure breaking that box open did let her out.”

“Did you see her?” 

“No, but when I was in the storage room a box moved and I heard a sigh.” 

“Okay, well...guess it’s time to figure out how to put this chick to rest!” Dean clapped his hands, stood up and headed to the bookshelf. 

***

Shyla stood after finally collecting herself, wiping the tears from her face and straightening her sweater. Staying curled up in a corner crying wasn’t going to solve anything, so she decided to venture back to the library to see if Sam and Dean had learned anything new about her predicament. At least they seemed to want to help her out of it as much as she wanted it resolved. And although they were a little gruff, they seemed kind, so she decided not to be frightened of them. 

She took her time walking down the long corridor this time, poking her head into each of the rooms just to see what was in them. Although her memory of her life had come flooding back, she had no memory of being in this “bunker” before, and she was curious what it was all about. 

“So if I’m a ghost…” she said to herself as she ducked into one of the rooms. She’d always assumed being a ghost would be just as it was in the movies, walking through walls, not able to move anything except by great force. She decided to test out the theories, walked up to one of the shelves and grabbed hold of a box. She lifted it with ease, removed the lid and rifled through the files inside. After putting the box back in its place she moved to the wall next to the door. She reached out and put her hand firmly on the smooth surface of the wall and pressed. Solid, no going through walls either. She shrugged and stepped out of the room back into the hallway. 

“Hmm, ghosts are supposed to be transparent, too,” she whispered. She lifted her hand in front of her face, staring intently at what appeared to be regular, solid flesh. She raised her hand up over her head toward the bright fluorescent overhead light. Squinting slightly she noticed, very faintly, that she could make out the fuzzy outline of the light fixture through her hand. “Huh. One outta three ain’t bad I guess.” 

She shrugged and continued back to the library, where she found Sam intent on the screen of the laptop and Dean standing in front of a shelf of books, slowly turning the pages of a thick, old-looking tome. She padded quietly across the room, careful not to make any noise that would alert them to her presence, and sat in an armchair that was wedged in the corner to watch and listen. 

“Okay,” Sam cleared his throat and sat back in the chair. “Found the obit, she was cremated, so salting and burning is out. You find anything?”

“Not much. Breaking the statue broke the link to it, but we knew that already.” Dean tossed the book onto the table and pulled out a chair to sit down. “I’m not finding a damn thing about the binding to the bunker though. Not even the spell to do it in the first place.” 

Sam sighed lightly, and gazed across the room. His brow furrowed slightly as he leaned forward in the chair. His squinting eyes seemed to be looking directly at Shyla. 

“Huh, do you see that, Dean?” Sam pointed across the room to the armchair. Shyla felt her hands start trembling again. Dean looked at the chair where she sat, his bright green eyes seeming to penetrate her as he studied the empty space where she sat. “It’s like a shadow, really faint.” 

“Yeah, I see it...Shyla?” Dean called out as he stood and headed toward the chair. “Sam, go get the EMF.”

Shyla’s first instinct was to run, hightail it back to that dark storage room and hide. But she took a deep breath and told herself the only way she was going to get out of this mess was to work  _ with  _ these guys, not hide from them.

“Hello,” she said, searching Dean’s face for any sign he’d heard her. “I’m here!” she blurted out a little louder, but still no reaction. She sighed and slumped down in the chair. This was going to be more complicated than she thought. 

Sam returned to the room with the EMF detector in his hand, which started buzzing quietly as soon as he entered the room. He walked slowly over to the chair where Shyla sat and the device’s low buzz ramped up until it was a high pitched squeal. 

“Well, she’s definitely here,” he said, clicking off the device to silence it. “Shyla, we’re not going to hurt you. We just want to help you move on. We know what happened to you and it wasn’t your fault.” Sam still stared at the empty space around the chair.

“Can you show yourself to us?” Dean asked, squinting, trying to see any movement in the faintly darker area above the chair seat. 

“I don’t know how!” Shyla practically yelled, and the two men looked at each other, neither sure if they’d heard anything.

“Did you…?”

“Yeah, I definitely heard...something…” Sam said as he took a few steps closer to the chair. “Talking board, maybe?”

“Worth a shot, I’ll go get it.” Dean turned and walked out of the room, leaving Sam standing there staring at the nothing that was Shyla. It was then an idea struck her, and she jumped up from the chair and went to the table that was covered with file folders and notepads. She picked up a pen and began writing on the nearest piece of paper. When she finished, she looked up at Sam and saw he was still looking at the chair. He hadn’t seen her move. She sighed in frustration, then began tapping the pen on the table to get his attention. He whipped around at the noise, and raised his eyebrows at the sight of a pen moving, suspended seemingly in mid-air. 

“Holy crap,” he said, then hurried over to the table in time to see the pen write one more word on the paper. He picked up the pad and read the note:  _ I don’t know what to do, help me. Please.  _ He set the pad back down with a sigh. “We’ll help you Shyla, I promise.” 

Dean reappeared in the library with the Ouija board under his arm, but stopped short when he saw the pale, concerned expression on Sam’s face.

“What happened?”

“Well, she can move objects…” he said, sliding the notepad across the table toward Dean. 

“Guess we don’t need this then,” Dean said dropping the talking board on the table and slumping down into the nearest chair. 

***

Dean looked up from the file he was reading to see a page of the open book across the table from him turn. The three of them had been clustered around the table in the library for two days searching for anything on the spell that had bound Shyla to the bunker, and with no success.

“That’s just creepy,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I’m never going to get used to that.” 

“Dude, she’s right here, she can hear you!” Sam said, glaring at his brother from across the table.

Shyla chuckled to herself at the brothers’ bickering, scribbled a quick note on the pad in front of her then stood it up on end facing Dean. Dean read the words ‘Don’t have a cow!’ 

“Don’t have a… oh, bite me!” Dean said, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to the file in front of him. Sam laughed and shook his head, noticing a quick, incredulous glance from Dean. Shyla giggled, letting the pad fall to the table with a soft thud and watched as Dean started slightly at the movement. She enjoyed the fact that the tough guy was unnerved by her presence. Leaning back in her chair, Shyla decided it was time for a bit of a break after two days of constant reading. She also thought it was time for Dean to get used to her being there, and maybe a little practical joke would do just that. 

She slipped out of her chair and rounded the table to stand next to Dean. Very gently she ran her finger up his bare forearm, with just enough pressure to move the thin hair there until he reached over with his opposite hand to scratch his arm mindlessly. After a minute or two she moved over to his other side and repeated the action on his other arm. Then she moved up to do the same thing to the back of his neck three times in a row. She giggled to herself quietly as she tormented him, keeping as quiet as possible so he couldn’t sense her laughter. Next she waited until he turned over a page from the file, caught it between her fingers as he set it down, and dropped it to the floor. As he bent down to pick it up, she slid another sheet of paper off the pile, letting it fall to his opposite side. 

“Dean, what are you doing over there?” Sam asked, watching his brother lean over to pick up the second sheet as a third slid off the table. A wide grin crossed his face as he started to realize what was going on. 

“Dropping things, apparently!” Dean spat as he reached down for the third time to retrieve a sheet of paper. As he sat back up he saw a fourth sheet sliding from the table and caught the smile Sam had hidden behind his hand and it dawned on him what was happening. “Shyla! Knock it off!” he bellowed, irritated. Just as the word ‘off’ left his lips, Shyla swiped the entire folder of papers off the table, sending them all flying to the floor. Sam burst out laughing hysterically while Dean sat there and let out a loud sigh. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” Dean pushed back his chair and stood, walking quickly out of the room, calling back over his shoulder as he passed through the doorway, “You two suck!” 

Sam and Shyla both laughed, watching Dean storm out of the room. Sam turned back to face the table, then stopped short, staring at the spot next to Dean’s empty chair.

“Shyla,” he said, grabbing her attention with his suddenly serious tone. “I can see you!” 

***

“What do you mean you can  _ see  _ me?” Shyla said as she slumped down into the chair, feeling vaguely uncomfortable with Sam staring at her. She watched as he cocked his head slightly, realizing he’d heard her say something but apparently couldn’t make out what she’d said. She reached across the table for a paper and pen. 

_ “You can see me but not hear me?” _ she wrote, turning the page around for Sam to read. 

“I heard something - like a whisper. And I can see your shape but...it’s still a shadow.” Sam slid the paper back around.

_ “Listen,” _ Shyla wrote. She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs, then shouted, “Sam!”

Sam jumped slightly when he heard the voice that sounded like a yell from two blocks away. 

“I heard that...you were yelling.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. “I think maybe you’re gaining energy now that you’re out of the statue.” 

_ “You guys are trying to figure out how to undo the spell that’s keeping me here in the bunker, right?” _ Shyla wrote.

“Right. It’s the only thing we can think of  _ to _ do.”

_ “What happens to me when I’m not stuck here?” _

“I really don’t know. Hopefully you’ll move on.”

_ “The tape,” _ Shyla wrote, hesitating, not wanting to put what she was thinking into words.

“What about it?” Sam said, looking up at the shadowy form across the table.

_ “He said I wouldn’t normally be at rest to begin with.” _ She paused, watching Sam look at her, hoping he’d get it without her having to spell it out.  _ “How is undoing the spell going to make any difference?”  _

“Well,” Sam said with a long sigh, “we’ll figure it out. We always do.” 

Shyla let out a huff of frustration, then tossed the pen onto the table. She stood up quickly, pushing the chair across the floor with a loud scraping sound and stormed out of the room brushing past Dean as he headed toward his brother. Dean turned and watched the shadow move through the doorway with his jaw slightly agape. 

“Shyla, wait!” Sam called after her.

“What the hell?” Dean said as he walked up to Sam. “Is she…”

“Yeah, she’s getting stronger. I think the statue and the box kept her from absorbing any energy. Pretty soon we’ll be able to see and hear her I think.” Sam watched the doorway Shyla had gone through, his furrowed brow giving away his worry.

“So what else is going on with her?” Dean asked, sitting down and glancing over the sheet of paper that contained Shyla’s half of their conversation.

“Dean, I don’t think she’s going to move on when we find a way to reverse the spell.” 

***

Shyla pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms and slipped inside, closing it quietly behind her. In the dimly lit room she found her way to a chair, sat down and let the tears stream down her face. She had suddenly lost all the strength she’d originally mustered to deal with this messed up situation and all the pent up emotions she’d been stuffing down were now flowing out. 

After twenty minutes she’d cried herself out, and felt just plainly tired. She stood and walked across the room to the bed, slid down and curled up, falling asleep in just a few minutes. 

***

It was nearly 1am when Sam walked into his room, yawning, his eyes slightly blurred from a long day of reading. He pulled off his flannel, tossing it on the chair across the room, then sat on the bed to take off his boots. He quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants, pulled back the covers on the bed and slid in with a sigh as his body relaxed into the mattress. 

After a few minutes, he turned to roll over on his side. He tugged on the blanket, but the right side was somehow anchored to the bed. 

“What the hell?” he whispered as he reached over and clicked on the lamp on the nightstand. Turning back to the bed, he startled to see the dark, shadowy figure curled up on the other side. “Shyla?” 

He saw a slight movement on the other side of the bed, but not enough for her to be awake. He gave the blanket under her a tug, eliciting just another small motion. 

“Shyla, wake up,” Sam said, louder this time. He thought he could hear what might have been a gasp, then Shyla’s shadowy form was bolting from the bed and out the door. “Hey, wait…”

***

When Shyla’s eyes popped open, she immediately noticed the light in the room, and Sam’s presence on the bed next to her. She darted up and ran across the room to the door, hearing Sam calling after her as she rounded the door and went down the hall. She bolted through the hallways until she came to the dusty storage room at the end where she’d first appeared. She ducked in and made her way to her first hiding spot behind the stacks of boxes. 

It was not quite ten minutes before she heard the low clicking sound of an EMF meter starting to ramp up, followed by the soft shuffle of footsteps as Sam entered the room. 

“Crap,” Shyla whispered, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The dim overhead light clicked on as she waited, listening to the whine of the meter grow in intensity as Sam zeroed in on her. 

“Shyla, come on, come out and talk to me,” Sam said as he grew closer, the red lights of the meter casting a glow on the boxes in front of Shyla. With a quick huff of breath, she stood and walked up to Sam, placing a hand on his forearm, her only way of letting him know she was there, as he shut the meter off to silence it’s high pitched screaming. “There you are…”

Shyla followed Sam back to the library where he clicked on one of the desk lamps and slid a notepad and pen in front of the chair next to where he’d taken a seat. He sat in silence for a moment, waiting to see if she was going to write anything. The pen rose from the table, and he watched as one word formed on the page. 

“ _ Sorry _ .” 

“It’s okay - you didn’t know it was my room,” Sam said, his voice soft. “We didn’t exactly give you a tour.” 

“ _ Sorry I ran off _ ,” Shyla wrote. 

“You’re having a rough time dealing with all this. I get it.” 

“ _ I wish I was still in the box. _ ”

“Do you remember that?” 

“ _ No. It was nothingness. _ ”

“Look, I know things suck right now,” Sam said, running a hand through his hair and tucking it behind his ear. “But we’ll figure this out. We’ll get you where you need to go.”

“ _ Where is that? _ ”

“As near as we can tell - heaven.” 

“ _ Will Thomas be there? _ ” 

“If you were soulmates, yes.” 

“ _ Will I go there even though...I did this to myself? _ ”

“I wish I knew, Shyla.”

Sam looked over at the dark form sitting in the chair next to him. He could just make out the peaks and valleys of her features, the places where the shadows grew darker or lighter. From the angles he could see, he was sure she was looking at him. 

The pen dropped back down to the table with a soft tap, and Sam could just make out a soft sigh, then a creak from the chair as Shyla sat back in it. 

“I’m going to go to bed,” Sam said as he pushed back in his own chair and stood. “Do you want me to show you to an empty room?”

“ _ No, I’m going to read _ ,” Shyla wrote, then dropped the pen again.

***

Dean entered the library on his way to the kitchen for coffee when he noticed Shyla’s figure slumped over one of the tables. Though she was still mostly a shadowy gray, he could just start to make out the green tinge of the shirt that covered her hunched back. He padded through the room quietly so he wouldn’t wake her. 

He was sitting at the table breathing in the bitter scent wafting up from his mug when Sam came in and grabbed a mug. 

“Did you see Shyla?” Dean asked as his brother sat down across from him. 

“Yeah, she’s getting more visible all the time now.” 

“It’ll be nice when we can hear her,” Dean said. 

“Yeah, dude we need to figure this thing out soon,” Sam said taking a swig of his coffee. “She’s...not in a good place.” 

“Think she’s gonna start going vengeful?” 

“I don’t think vengeful, but I can see her turning into a white lady.” 

“You mean like that woman in white we ganked years ago?” 

“No, not quite. White lady is a spirit of a woman whose love was lost tragically. They wander looking for the person they lost, and will make contact with people trying to look for them. Mostly benign, but if they get frustrated they can cause accidents.” 

“Well, once we break the spell, how are we gonna get her to cross over? No bones to burn. And we know she’s stuck because she killed herself.” 

“I don’t know man, I think she might be stuck more because of grief. Maybe help her mourn? 

“Dude, how the hell do we help a ghost mourn? Hire a ghost shrink?”

“Well, I know you’re not going to like this…” Sam said, reaching up to scratch at his head, stalling. He looked up to see Dean staring at him with that patented perturbed expression.

“What?” 

“We let her stay here, talk to her, help her through it.” 

“Seriously? Sammy I don’t know how to help someone like that!” 

“Dean, you’ll figure it out. We both will.” 

***

Shyla stopped short as she was rifling through a box of papers in the store room, tilting her head toward the sound she thought she just heard. She stood completely still, even held her breath, until...a whisper, faint but definitely there….

“Shylaaaa…”

“Hello? Who’s there?” Shyla called out, feeling mildly ridiculous when she realized no one would hear her anyway. An icy shiver ran up her spine when the whisper came again, closer this time. 

“Shyla...come back to me…”

“Okay, who’s there? Dean, if that’s you trying to prank me back, I swear I won’t let you sleep for a week…” Shyla set the box back on the shelf and turned toward the whisper. She took two tentative steps forward. 

“Shyla please…”

She turned the corner of the shelf and started moving toward the back of the room. Another wave of cold slowed up her back as the voice came again, this time right next to her ear. 

“I miss you, Shortcake…”

“Thomas?” Shyla asked the empty air, spinning around to peer in all the shadows around the room, finding nothing. “Thomas are you here?” 

A loud thump sounded from the front of the room, causing Shyla to turn on her heels and cross the room at a run, spinning around the door into the hallway in three seconds. She ran all the way back to the library, her sneaker-clad feet echoing through the hall. 

Dean turned from his chair toward the doorway just as Shyla burst through it. 

“You find something?” he asked, turning to see her opaque shadow quickly moving toward the table. The pen next to him rose up, and he watched as words appeared on the notepad in front of him. 

“ _ I found Thomas! _ ”

“What? What do you mean you found Thomas?” Dean said as he looked across the table at Sam.

“ _ He whispered to me. _ ” 

“Okay, Shyla, I don’t mean to be a downer here,” Dean said, one hand reaching up to scratch at the hair at the back of his head. “But there’s no way a ghost can get in here, this place is warded nine times till Sunday.”  

“ _ I know it was him. _ ”

“How do you know? Did you see him?” Sam asked.

“ _ He called me Shortcake. He always called me that. _ ” 

“Okay, before you get too excited, let’s check it out. What room?” Sam said.

“ _ 7B. _ ”

“I’ll grab the EMF,” Dean said, rising from his chair.

“Yup, right behind you,” Sam said, standing and looking over at Shyla. “Stay here for a minute, so we can get a reading in there.” 

Shyla nodded, then quickly scrawled another note in large, block letters.

“ _ IT’S HIM! _ ”

***

Sam came up behind Dean as he slowly waved the EMF meter back and forth while stepping forward into the room. The meter was whining quietly, picking up the remnants of Shyla’s energy from recently being in the room, but the needle stayed steady at its low level. 

“So you think we have another spook?” Sam asked. 

“I doubt it, man...there’s no way it could get in here,” Dean said.

“Yeah I can’t think of any way it could get in. But she’s pretty adamant she heard something.” 

“Well, the chick sliced her own wrists out of grief, I don’t think hearing her dead fiance is out of the realm of possibility here.” 

“Yeah, we need to convince her he’s not really here or we’ll never get her to move on,” Sam said, leaning up against a shelf as Dean continued sweeping. Glancing down the aisle, he noticed a folder laying on the floor, a circular area free of dust around it as if the air movement from it hitting the floor had blown it away. He walked down the aisle and bent to pick it up, then flipped through the pages contained inside. “Holy crap, Dean look at this!” 

“What?” Dean said as he stepped up to Sam’s side and peered over his arm at the papers. “Holy crap.” 

“It’s the Lares spell.” 

***

Shyla paced the room behind Sam as he sat at the table with his head bowed over the notes on the Lares spell, searching for the reversal. The notes were similar to another of Sinclair’s spells they’d had to defuse, and the reversal had been coded into the spell itself, Cuthbert’s arrogance at work. 

Shyla was quietly muttering to herself as she paced, uttering the stream of thoughts about being free from the spell and getting out of the bunker to try to find Thomas. Sam and Dean had assured her, rather vehemently, that there was no evidence of another spirit, and no way he could have gotten in the bunker in the first place. But she knew what she heard, knew it was him, knew it wasn’t some figment of her imagination. 

Dean returned to the library with two cups of coffee in hand, setting one in front of his brother before sitting down with his own and swinging his feet up onto the table. He glanced up and watched Shyla’s movement passing back and forth behind Sam. 

“Hey, ghost girl...wanna cool it with the pacing? You’re gonna make me dizzy here.” 

Shyla stopped and turned, casting a glare at Dean that he couldn’t make out. She walked around the table to sit next to Dean with a huffed sigh. Taking up a pen, she scribbled a quick note, then turned the paper toward him. 

“ _ Bite me. _ ” 

“Sorry, sister...nothing to bite. Disembodied spirit and all,” Dean said with a smirk. 

“Dean, be nice. And be quiet, I’ve almost got this.” Sam glanced up long enough to give his brother a bit of a glare, then ducked his head back down, continuing his work. 

Shyla leaned back in the chair and watched Sam as he took notes. Her mind raced with anxiety and anticipation, wanting to get this part of the process over with as soon as possible so she could find Thomas. She shivered as she felt a cold burst of air meet the back of her neck. 

“Shyla...come back to me Shortcake.” The whisper sounded from behind her and she whipped around in her seat, desperately wanting to catch a glimpse of the owner of the whispering voice. 

Dean watched Shyla turn with a start and followed her gaze.

“Shyla? What’s up?” 

“ _ He’s here again, _ ” Shyla wrote quickly. Dean turned from the paper and glanced around the room again, then back to Shyla. 

“Look I don’t know what it is, but it can’t really be him. We told you that, there’s no way he can get in here.” 

“Shyla, we know you want it to be him,” Sam added. “We understand, really. But sometimes...well, we’ve seen it before, sometimes spirits see what they want to see. Or hear.”  

Shyla grabbed up the pen again, hovering it over the paper in front of her. Not knowing what she wanted to say, she let out a frustrated sigh. She threw the pen across the table, hitting Sam squarely in the chest, pushed back her chair and stormed out of the room. 

“And you told  _ me  _ to be nice!” Dean said, smirking at Sam from across the table. 

***

Sam drew the Etruscan symbols around the circle on the floor with chalk, referencing his notes before starting each new symbol. Once complete, and double checked, he waved Shyla over. 

“Okay, really simple, you just need to stand in the center of the circle while I read the spell,” he said, pointing to the chalk circle. He watched as she stepped across the lines and came to a stop dead center. “Ready?” 

Shyla nodded. Sam flipped the page in his notebook to the latin words that made up the spell. He cleared his throat, glancing over at Dean who sat at the table watching. 

As the words hit the air, the lights in the library began to sizzle and flicker, slowly at first, then as Sam reached the end of the first paragraph of the spell turning to full-on blinking. As he started the next paragraph, the air in the room grew tight and warm, humid like a southern summer day. 

Dean sat up straighter in his chair as the atmosphere of the room closed in, reaching out to grasp the shotgun loaded with salt rounds he’d insisted on having ready, just in case. 

Sam glanced up at Shyla, noticing her arms wrapped around herself as if shivering with cold. As he continued on to the third and final paragraph of the spell, the lights in the room zapped to a steady glow, and as the words poured out of his mouth the lights grew brighter. He could hear the electric buzz from the fixtures as he continued, each word seeming to intensify the light. 

As the final sentence was spoken, the buzzing grew to a high-pitched scream and finally with the last three words, the room filled with a blinding blast of pure white light as each of the light bulbs burst from their sockets sending shards of shattered glass spewing around the edges of the room and across the tables. The light sucked itself into the circle, into Shyla, then dispersed leaving the room dim and silent. 

“Everyone okay?” Dean asked, rising from his chair and brushing a few broken bits of light bulb from his shirt. 

“I’m good,” Sam said, turning to the circle. Shyla was slumped over in a heap on the floor, completely still. And, completely visible. 

“Dude, do you see this?” Dean asked, stepping over to the edge of the circle and kneeling down to look at Shyla’s still form. 

“Guess there’s no doubt it did something,” Sam said, stepping across the edge of the circle and reaching down to lay a hand to Shyla’s back. His hand slipped straight through her sending a chill up his arm. “Shyla?” 

A quiet groan came from the balled-up heap, and Shyla began to move. She unfolded her limbs, pushing up to sitting with one hand on the floor, her other hand grasping at her temple trying to rub away the fuzzy pain that was throbbing through her head. 

“What happened?” Shyla said, looking up at Sam, then at Dean, taking in their wide-eyed expressions. 

“Spell worked, Shyla, we can see you and hear you now,” Sam said with a smile. 

***

“Just shut up, Dean, you’re not going to convince me it wasn’t real!” Shyla said, nearly yelling. “I know what I heard, and it was Thomas!” 

“Okay, guys, c’mon... cool it, alright?” Sam said, glancing at Shyla, then giving Dean a glare with a slight tilt of his head and a narrowing of his eyes. “Shyla, no one is saying what you heard wasn’t real.” 

“That’s exactly what Dean was saying.” 

“What I mean is, I don’t doubt you heard him,” Sam said, growing frustrated. “We just don’t think there’s any way his spirit could be in the bunker. There’s too many wards and protections.” 

“Yeah, some protection - didn’t keep me out of this ugly place.” 

“Okay, look, maybe Thomas was contacting you from the veil. Maybe he’s reaching out to you,” Sam said, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. “We can go to his grave and see if he comes to you, but that spell took a lot out of you, so how about you just rest a while, recharge. Okay?” 

“Fine,” Shyla muttered as she turned away from the table and stalked off down the hallway toward the bedrooms. 

“Man, she is one stubborn ghost,” Dean said as soon as he was sure she was out of earshot. “You really want to take her on a field trip?” 

“I don’t see why not. Maybe if she gets in contact with Thomas he’ll be able to convince her to move on.” 

“Better him than me, man. That girl is seriously frustrating.” 

***

Shyla slid into the back seat of the Impala pulling the door closed behind her and waited for the brothers to join her. It had been three days since the spell to release her from being bound to the bunker, and after two days of fighting and a third of begging, followed by a test trip out of the bunker, Sam and Dean had finally agreed to take her to the cemetery where Thomas was buried. 

The rumbling of the engine cut off as Dean put the car in park and turned off the ignition, the two brothers and the ghost all piling out into the foggy night air at the cemetery. Dean lead the way through the paths with a flashlight held in front of him until they came to the section with Shyla’s fiance’s grave. After a few minutes of searching headstones, they finally found him - Thomas Morton. 

Sam and Dean stepped aside and let Shyla approach the grave. She knelt down in front of it, reaching out a hand to run her fingers over the engraved letters of his name, pausing over the year of his death. Her eyes filled and quickly overflowed with tears before she took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, shakily. 

“Thomas? Are you here?” she called out, glancing around, waiting for a reply. “I heard you before. I know it was you, baby. Talk to me, please?” 

Sam and Dean watched as her shoulders slumped when there was no response, not even a chill in the air. 

“Thomas, please. I want to come back to you. I miss you,” Shyla said, her tears now pulling her breath out in broken hitches. 

The brothers stepped back away from the headstone a few paces, giving Shyla a little more space to grieve, to mourn. They weren’t surprised when Thomas didn’t show up, but it had become apparent over the past few days that she wasn’t going to give up on the idea until she saw for herself that he wasn’t really there. They gave her a few more minutes before Sam stepped forward and approached the sobbing woman. 

“Shyla,” Sam said gently, squatting down next to her. “Listen, I’m sorry, I really am... but I don’t think he’s here. I think he’s moved on.”

“I know,” she said, lifting her head to look at Sam. “I just miss him so much, and I was hoping…”

“I know, Shyla,” Sam said, wishing he could reach out and touch her, comfort her with a hand to her shoulder. “We should get back to the bunker.” 

Shyla nodded as Sam stood, then began walking back to the Impala with Dean quietly falling in line behind him. Shyla stood slowly, brushing the tears from her cheeks. Looking down at the headstone, she laid a hand on the top of it and closed her eyes for a moment. She turned away then, taking in a deep breath and slowly walked away back to the car. 

***

“Dean? Have you seen Shyla?” Sam asked as he entered the kitchen where Dean was standing at the stove frying bacon. Sam pulled a mug from the counter and filled it with coffee, then slid into a seat at the table. 

“Nah, not since we got back last night,” Dean answered, turning from the skillet to see Sam’s brow furrowed in concern. 

“I looked in all the bedrooms and the storage rooms - she’s nowhere. Think she’s just taking a ghost nap?” 

“Could be, she was pretty upset,” Dean said, turning the burner off and walking over to sit across from his brother. “Probably drained her battery.” 

“Yeah, yeah that’s probably it.” Sam lifted his mug to take a deep swallow, trying to push away the uneasy feeling in his core.

***

“Shyla?” Sam called as he poked his head into the door of the last room in the hall, reaching in with the EMF meter, hoping to get a blip. He sighed when there was nothing, no response from Shyla and no movement on the meter. It had been 24 hours since they’d last seen the ghost, and the sudden disappearance after the sad scene at the graveyard wasn’t sitting right with Sam, his gut telling him it was something more than a lack of energy. 

“Anything?” Dean asked, looking up from the laptop as Sam pulled out a chair to sit across from him. 

“Nothing,” Sam said, running his hands through his hair, tucking it behind his ears. “Dude something isn’t right here.” 

“She’ll turn up, Sam,” Dean said, turning his attention back to the laptop screen. “Whoa... and maybe she’ll turn up where we really don’t want her to.” 

Dean turned the computer around to face his brother. Sam’s jaw dropped as he read the headline and began skimming the news article on the page. 

“Oh, man…” Sam said with a sigh. “I told you she’d turn.” 

“We don’t know that, Sam, maybe it’s another spook altogether.” 

“Right, because it’d be just that coincidental that another ghost would jump into someone’s car calling the guy Thomas and cause an accident?”

“Yeah, I guess that’d be too freaky even for us.” 

“Come on, let’s go check the guy out, he’s probably still in the hospital.” 

***

The brothers walked into the hospital room and introduced themselves to Gary Jones as insurance investigators. The man had one leg strung up in traction and a roadmap of cuts and bruises on his face. 

“Mr. Jones, you said a woman jumped into your car and that’s what caused the crash?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah, crazy lady just hopped in while I was at a stop sign, started going on about missing me and how she was so glad she found me. I figured she was having some sort of delusion or something, so I was going to drive her to the hospital.” 

“And how did the accident happen, Mr. Jones?” Sam asked. 

“She kept calling me Thomas, and I kept telling her ‘Sorry, my name is Gary, but I’m going to get you some help.’ Then she just went crazy, started taking swings at me, she rammed her foot onto my knee and pushed the accelerator. I finally just swerved off the road and put the car into a tree to stop it. Figured it was better than crashing into another car, hurting someone else. I passed out, and when I woke up, she was gone.” 

“Thank you for your time, I think that’s all we need,” Dean said, turning to walk out of the room with Sam close behind. 

“Crap, Dean, we gotta find her and get her to move on,” Sam said as they walked down the hallway toward the exit. 

***

“Shyla!” Sam yelled as he ran down the stairs from the door of the bunker. “Dean, check the bedrooms, I’ll get the storage rooms.” 

The two men exited the library, going down separate hallways, each calling out for the missing ghost as they opened each door and peered inside. After ten minutes of frantic searching, they met back at the library. 

“Well, she definitely didn’t come back here,” Sam said, slightly out of breath. 

“We could try summoning her. Her ashes are buried in the same cemetery as her fiance. It might work,” Dead said with a shrug. 

“It’s worth a shot,” Sam said, turning on his heel and heading out of the room. “I’ll get the supplies.” 

***

The creak of the two front doors of the Impala echoed through the graveyard as the brothers exited the vehicle after screeching to halt. Sam pulled out the duffel bag containing the supplies to work the summoning ritual, slinging it over his shoulder while Dean grabbed up a sawed-off and a handful of salt rounds to drop in his jacket pocket. 

As they walked the path to the columbarium, Sam and Dean passed by the section they’d visited the previous night with Shyla, where her fiance was buried. 

“Dean, hold up,” Sam said, reaching out with one hand to his brother’s chest. Let’s go check Thomas’s grave.”

“Yeah, logical,” Dean said with a shrug as they turned off the path and headed for the burial plot. “She could definitely be hanging out there.” 

They made their way through the rows of headstones until they came to Thomas’s. There, slumped on the ground in a heap was a figure. Shyla had been wearing jeans and a green sweater, since the spell to unbind her, she had been brightly colored, fully opaque. But the figure before them was all in white, slightly transparent with a dim glow emanating from her. They could hear a faint sniffling coming from the figure. 

“Shyla?” Sam called out softly as he approached her. She jerked up at the sound of her name, whipping around to face the two men. She stood up and walked directly toward Dean with her arms outstretched. 

“Thomas!” She called out as she reached for Dean. “Where have you been?”

“Shyla, I’m not Thomas,” Dean said, tightening his grip on the shotgun. 

“Yes you are, why do you keep playing these games?” Shyla said, tilting her head as she laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You know I don’t like it when you try to scare me.” 

“Shyla,” Sam said, taking a few steps forward toward her. “Shyla, look at me.” 

The ghost turned from Dean, looking up at Sam in confusion.

“Shyla, it’s Sam. Do you remember me?” 

“You’re not Thomas,” Shyla replied, cocking her head at Sam.

“No, Shyla. I’m Sam. And that’s Dean. Remember?” 

“Not Thomas?” 

“No, Thomas isn’t here Shyla,” Dean said keeping his voice calm and steady but gripping the shotgun even tighter.

“Why can’t I find Thomas?” Shyla asked, her face dropping into a frown as she began to cry again. 

“Shyla, you need to move on now,” Sam said. “Please.” 

“I have to find Thomas.” 

“Thomas isn’t here,” Dean said. 

“Thomas?” Shyla said, stepping toward Dean again. “Thomas please hold me.” 

“I’m not Thomas,” Dean said again. Shyla looked at Dean with the same confused tilt to her head, then her pale eyes grew wide. She tilted her head back and let out a bone-chilling, high pitched scream. She burst forward then, ramming both hands into Dean’s chest knocking him to the ground where he slid three feet to land at the base of a headstone, nearly missing a knock to his head. 

“Shyla, no!” Sam yelled, darting to his brother’s side. Shyla was suddenly on top of Dean then, reaching with both hands clasped around his throat. As Dean began to flail and gasp, Sam dove for the shotgun that had been flung several feet to the side. Seconds later he pulled the trigger, the sound reverberating through the air as Shyla disappeared in a misty puff of white smoke. 

“Dude,” Dean said, rolling to his side, rubbing at his throat and continuing to gasp as his lungs re-filled with air. “I think she turned.” 

“Ya think?” Sam said, reaching down to grab Dean’s elbow and help him to stand. “You okay?” 

“I’m good. But what the hell are we going to do about her?” 

“I have an idea, don’t worry.”

***

Sam opened the duffel bag and removed a large bowl filled with herbs and candles. He set it on on the ground to the side of Thomas’s grave, then draped a black cloth with a pentacle painted in its center over the plot in front of the headstone. He set each of the five candles on the five points of the star, then placed the bowl with the herbs in the center. After lighting the candles, he stood back and looked around the cemetery for any sign of Shyla’s return. 

“You really think summoning Thomas is going to work?” Dean asked from where he leaned against a grave marker, still idly rubbing at his neck where the faint darkening of bruising was becoming visible. 

“No idea, but it’s all I can think of to try,” Sam said with a shrug. “We certainly can’t convince her to move on, so maybe he can. Just need to wait for her to come back, then I’ll start the spell.” 

“Well she needs to hurry up,” Dean said, popping open the shotgun and slipping a fresh shell in the chamber. “I’ve had enough of being a punching bag for one day.”

The brothers settled in to wait for the spirit’s return, Dean clutching the shotgun, Sam intermittently reading over the latin incantation he held in his hand and surveying the surrounding area for the now-white figure of Shyla. It was a long, quiet twenty minutes, but finally Dean caught sight of the glowing shape walking toward them, the orange glow of the now setting sun setting her silhouette on fire. 

As Shyla approached, Sam stood over the altar on her fiance's grave and began reciting the latin. 

“Aziel, Castiel, Lamisniel, Ramam. Ehrley, et balam, ego vos conuro, per deum verum, per deum vivum.” 

Shyla walked directly up to Dean, placing a hand to the side of his face, her eyes filled with tears. 

“Thomas, please…”

“Shyla, I’m not Thomas,” Dean said, raising the shotgun to her chest. “But Sam, he’s bringing Thomas here for you, okay? Listen... ” 

“Cuivos cuiaves, eos supermontes et per eum, qui adam, et avum formovit. Et per eum…” Sam continued the spell, listening to Dean trying to calm Shyla long enough for him to finish. 

Shyla turned to Sam, listening to his words intently, taking a step forward toward the grave and the altar items set up on it. 

“Thomas?” 

“That’s right, Shyla,” Dean said, stepping up behind her, keeping the shotgun trained on her. “Sam’s almost done, then Thomas will be here. See?” 

As Sam finished the spell, the last words still echoing through the air, a second figure began to materialize behind the grave marker in a twisting cloud of white smoke. The tall, slender man stood, unmoving, eyes locked on Shyla. 

Shyla’s eyes were locked on the man, as well, though now overflowing with threads of steady tears.

“Thomas…” she whispered as she stepped forward toward the figure. 

“Shyla... my shortcake…” Thomas said as he stepped out from behind the headstone. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I couldn’t live without you,” Shyla said as the two came to a stop in front of one another, their hands reaching out, grasping each other’s, a white glow emanating from the places of contact. “I’m so sorry, Thomas.” 

“I’m sorry too, I didn’t want to leave you, never wanted to leave you alone like that.” 

Sam and Dean stood back, watching the exchange between the two spirits. As they watched, Shyla’s white glow slipped away to be replaced by the normal colors of her green sweater, her pink skin, the blue of her jeans. The glow of their hands touching was the only white left, the air of confusion that had been wafting from her dissipating the longer she stood there in front of her love. 

Shyla turned back from Thomas to look at Sam and Dean, her face streaked with tears. She nodded slightly, telling them without words that she understood now. 

“Baby, I didn’t want to leave here, I was scared... so scared of what I didn’t know. If I go... Thomas, if I go with you now will I stay with you?” 

“Of course you will, Shyla. You belong with me. Always with me. There’s nothing left for you here anymore. Come back to me?” 

Shyla’s face broke into a smile, her eyes lighting up at Thomas’s words. 

“Of course Thomas, it’s all I ever wanted… to be with you.” 

Thomas dropped Shyla’s hands and reached up, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her tightly into him, his eyes closing tightly, a smile crossing his lips as Shyla’s arms reached up to grasp at the back of his shirt. The white glow that had been centered in their hands now began again, flowing out from the center of them, enveloping them both, merging them from two separate beings into one, their souls melding, blending, mixing until all that remained was one completed soul. As the light grew brighter, lighting up the few yards surrounding them, the soul began to twist and spiral in on itself, pulling the light back inside it until it dispersed completely, gone to the mysterious place that souls go. 

***

Sam and Dean walked slowly along the path that wound between the rows of grave sites in the cemetery, Dean with the shotgun resting on his shoulder, Sam with the duffel bag resting at his back. The silence between them was broken only by the slow thumping of their footsteps on the pavement until they reached the Impala, the doors creaking open and slamming shut followed by the roar of the engine coming to life. 

“I guess Ash was right,” Sam said, turning to his brother from his spot in the passenger’s seat. 

“Ash? What do you mean?”

“Remember? He told us everyone gets their own heaven, except for a few special cases, soulmates.” 

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Dean said with a half smile as he put the car in gear and pressed on the gas, pushing the vehicle into motion. “Hey, you ever wonder if Mom and Dad are together up there?” 

“Huh, I never really considered it,” Sam said, reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. “But I guess they’d have to be, y’know? It was destiny that they find each other, I can’t imagine heaven would separate them after that.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said with a chuckle. “Yeah, they’ve gotta be together. Definitely.” 

“Yeah, I bet they are, they’ve got to be,” Sam said, sighing as he leaned back against the seat, letting his gaze follow the horizon that was now painted with reds and oranges as the sun sank. “You ready to head home?” 

“After we stop for some pie.” 

“Dude, you know what your heaven is gonna be like, don’t you?” 

“Yeah. My little brother and everywhere you turn, nothing but pie.” 

 

THE END

 


End file.
